


When You Lose Something You Can't Replace

by Moriartied



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Cutting, Emotional Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Romance, Self Harm, Therapy, self injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 06:09:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moriartied/pseuds/Moriartied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A couple years before all the wolf stuff, Stiles and Isaac attended the same group grief counseling. They bonded there, until one day Isaac suddenly stopped coming and started ignoring any of Stiles' attempts at friendship. Now Stiles feels guilty for not trying harder--he feels responsible for the fact that Isaac was desperate enough to take the bite--and wants to fix it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Lose Something You Can't Replace

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Emmie (burntotears) and Elena. Muchas gracias.

_Prologue_

_I don’t ever want to let you down… It’s time to begin, isn’t it?_

It had been over a year since they’d really talked to each other more than just a nod in the hallway or a “Pass the beaker” in chemistry class. Not that they ever talked in school. In fact, to the rest of their classmates, nothing had even changed. But when Stiles had found out that Isaac had gotten the bite from Derek, he wasn’t all that surprised. To everyone else, Isaac was the quite kid from the broken home who minded his own business. But Stiles knew more than that. He knew about Camden. He knew a little about Isaac’s mom. Knew enough about Isaac’s dad.

So when Derek turned Isaac, Stiles wasn’t shocked, wasn’t angry at Derek like Scott was. No, the only thing he felt was regret. Regret that he hadn’t tried harder to keep in touch with Isaac after he’d stopped coming to therapy. Regret that he hadn’t taken a deeper interest in Isaac’s life and well-being. When Stiles watched Isaac being taken away in the back of the sheriff’s squad car, the only thing he was thinking was that he could have stopped this. He could have been a friend to Isaac. He could have made the effort to stay a part of Isaac’s life. He could have helped Isaac to heal without having to resort to the supernatural.

But it was too late for all of that. All Stiles could do now was try to make sure Isaac didn’t get murdered by the Argents, and stew in his own guilt.

_1_

_I want to hide the truth, I want to shelter you. But with the beast inside, there’s nowhere we can hide._

Stiles didn’t even want to go to group therapy. He was fine. Well, he was managing. Sure he had nightmares every night, and a panic attack at least once a week, but he could handle it. He’d had appointments with Dr. Okamura once a month since his mom had died. His dad had gone with him at first, but eventually decided that bourbon was a better therapist, so it had just been Stiles on his own. He liked Dr. Okamura. She never made him talk if he didn’t want to, but if he did, she would let him ramble on and on about absolutely nothing for their entire hour. She never wrote anything down, at least not while Stiles was there. He thought they had a nice little thing going on, until one day, at the end of eighth grade, she sprung it on him.

“Stiles, it doesn’t really seem like we’ve made any progress. I think you would benefit from some… group sessions. I can write you a referral. And we can still meet on a semi-regular basis, but I think this will be good for you.”

Stiles had stared at her, dumbfounded. What was she talking about? They had made loads of progress. He’d only had… three panic attacks since their last meeting, which was like, 25% better than usual! But she was giving him that sympathetic look that told him her mind was made up—the trust-me-I’m-a-doctor look—and he knew she’d already talked to his dad.

So the next Saturday he grudgingly dragged himself out of the passenger seat of his dad’s car and trudged his way into the community center basement. It was exactly as he’d expected. Ugly fluorescent lighting, stained tan tile floor, and a circle of mismatched folding chairs. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his worn-out hoodie and took a seat next to a girl with dyed black hair and vintage doc martins. He stared at the floor, trying to determine whether the closest stain looked more like a fish or a rabbit. Fish, he decided, because that brown sludge definitely looked amphibious.

They had to introduce themselves. Say their name, why they were there, one interesting thing about themselves. Most of the time Stiles was a real chatterbox, but this was one of those rare situations when he just didn’t have it in him. His mouth was dry, palms itching with fidgety restlessness. When his turn came, he raised his head and glanced around the circle. “I’m Stiles. Stiles Stilinski. My… mom died.”

The session leader nodded, scribbling something on his clipboard. “And an interesting fact about yourself?” he prompted.

Stiles shrugged. “My dad’s the sheriff,” he came up with. It was lame, but he really didn’t feel like sharing. He cracked his knuckles against his hip, feeling the therapist’s eyes lingering on him before he sighed and moved on to the right.

“Isaac Lahey,” a quiet, slightly shaky voice said beside him. Stiles raised his eyes a little to see that his neighbor’s posture was almost identical to his own—fists balled in the pocket of an oversized sweatshirt, eyes trained on the ground, foot tapping a steady staccato. “My brother shot himself. I’m not very interesting.”

Stiles instantly felt like shit. Having a brother who killed himself was way worse than having your mom die of cancer. Is this what Dr. Okamura had wanted? To show Stiles that he wasn’t the only one in the world who’d had a tragedy in his life? To show him that he wasn’t special and that he should suck it up and move on because others had it way worse?

Stiles barely paid attention to the rest of the session. His ADHD already made it hard enough to focus, but combine that with his suddenly racing thoughts and the therapist’s words were just muted white noise in the background. After the session he followed Isaac out into the hall. He bumped his shoulder into the taller boy’s and cleared his throat. “You go to Beacon Hills, right?” he started. Lame, again. God get it together Stilinski.

Isaac nodded, not meeting Stiles’ eyes.

“I’m sorry about your brother.” Because that’s what you say, right? Sorry for your loss? As if an apology from a complete stranger could make it any better?

“Mmhm,” Isaac scuffed the toe of his shoe into the floor, and the conversation fell flat.

Stiles saw his dad pull into the parking lot. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Okay, I gotta go, see you next week?”

Isaac shrugged. “Guess so.”

 

 

The next therapy session, Isaac had a black eye. The leader, whose name Stiles had finally learned was Dave, asked him about it. Isaac shrugged, mumbled something about a lacrosse ball, and the group moved on.

The goth girl’s name was Jenny. Her parents had been in a car crash and she was living with her aunt. She wore long sleeves that covered her hands and she was constantly twisting them in her fists. Stiles wondered vaguely what they were hiding, and then quickly remembered it wasn’t any of his business.

That day Dave asked them to share one of their favorite memories of their loved one.

Stiles told a story about how his mom always baked a red velvet layer cake for his birthday. Even when she was sick, and could only stand for short periods at a time, she still made sure the cake was on the table, carefully frosted and decorated with swirls and smiley faces and “Happy birthday baby”, even when he was 10 years old and way too mature to be called that. When she died, she left him a shoebox filled with memories and letters. Letters she’d written to him over the years, telling him how proud she was, how much she loved him. And at the very bottom of the box was a carefully handwritten recipe for her red velvet cake.

Jenny reached out to touch Stiles’ shoulder when he finished his story.

Isaac’s story was about Camden teaching him to ride a bike when he was six. Their parents had been fighting, again, yelling about overdue bills and collection notices. Isaac was sitting on the floor with his fingers stuffed in his ears, reading a Hardy Boys book—a hand-me-down from his brother—when suddenly Camden was standing above him.

“Get up, we’re going to ride bikes.”

Isaac jumped up, grinning, and followed his brother outside. He watched in apprehension as Camden unscrewed the training wheels, and patted the seat for Isaac to get on.

They stayed out until the sun went down. It was one of the happiest days of Isaac’s life.

Stiles wanted to know more. He wanted to know about Isaac’s parents. Why he only ever talked about his mom in the past tense. What made Camden snap. What put that nervous quiver in Isaac’s voice.

But Isaac never opened up about any of that.

 

 

Three weeks went by and Stiles still knew next to nothing about Isaac. The fourth session let out early because Dave had to go to his daughter’s ballet rehearsal. Stiles grabbed Isaac’s arm as he headed out the door. Isaac flinched and pulled back, eyes wide with a look of fear that made Stiles go cold. He retreated, giving Isaac space, and then stammered, “Shit, sorry, I just... just wanted to ask if you wanted to go for pizza or something. While we wait.”

Isaac stared at him.

“Or we don’t have to, your choice,” Stiles waved his hands apologetically.

Isaac continued to stare and then shrugged. “Yeah. I can do pizza.”

Stiles let out an audible sigh of relief.

Ten minutes later they were sitting across from each other in a booth. Stiles had a plate full of cheesy sausage pizza and Isaac was already wolfing down his pepperoni. They ate in silence until Isaac finished his slice, gaze darting to the window.

“Is your dad coming?” Stiles asked.

Isaac nodded. “Yeah.”

Stiles checked his watch. “We still have about 20 minutes.”

Isaac shook his head “I have to be at the community center when he gets there. He’ll… he won’t be happy if I’m late.”

Stiles frowned. Isaac’s black eye had healed a while ago, but there was a new bruise on his cheek that was still a sickly yellow. Though his grades didn’t always reflect it, Stiles was a smart kid. He could put two and two together. But he didn’t say anything. He finished his pizza and wiped his mouth on the napkin.

“You want to go back now? I’ll wait there with you.”

Isaac gave a small side smile. They threw out their trash and headed back across the street. Isaac’s hands were shoved into his pockets and his head was down. His shoulders were hunched, making him appear almost Stiles’ height even though he was a good three inches taller.

Again Stiles felt a desperate urge to know more about Isaac’s life.

When they got back to the lobby of the community center, Stiles flopped down in one of the less than comfortable wooden armchairs. Isaac stood, rocking agitatedly on the balls of his feet. Tension radiated off of him in waves. Stiles pulled his knees up to his chest and looked up at Isaac over them.

“You wanna talk?” he asked. It was funny, because the whole point of therapy was for them to talk, but neither did a very good job of it during the sessions. As expected, Isaac shook his head. Stiles shrugged, resting his chin on his knees. “You wanna come over and play Halo sometime?”

Isaac froze mid rock.

“Can’t.”

“Oh.”

Stiles was silent after that. He watched Isaac pace back and forth across the cold linoleum floor. Stiles’ dad came first so he hoisted himself out of the chair. As he walked past Isaac towards the door he reached out to gently squeeze his elbow, causing the other boy to look up and meet his eyes for the first time. Stiles held his gaze and said determinedly, “I’ll be here. If you change your mind. About talking. Or video games.”

 

 

Isaac didn’t come to therapy the next week. Dave said his dad had called him in sick.

That night Stiles had his first panic attack in almost a month. He woke up from a nightmare, gasping for breath. His sheets were damp with sweat and he was shivering, even though it was the middle of June. He counted backwards from one hundred like Dr. Okamura had taught him. He got all the way to thirty before his heart rate finally started to slow. By the time he got to zero he was calm, but his chest still felt tight.

 

 

The next Saturday, Isaac was there, his left arm in a cast. He studiously avoided Stiles’ concerned looks and shrugged and didn’t say anything when Dave asked them how their weeks went. When the question fell to him, Stiles cleared his throat and stared at his hands while telling the group about his panic attack. Dave asked if he had any idea what the trigger had been, and Stiles’ eyes flickered over to Isaac before he shook his head.

Stiles cornered Isaac in the bathroom after the session ended.

“What happened?” he demanded once he was sure they were alone.

Isaac shook his head, not saying anything.

“Was it your dad?” he asked.

The muscles in Isaac’s neck rippled as he clenched his teeth. He stared at Stiles with dead eyes. “No,” he growled.  “It was an accident,” his voice was low and filled with rage.

Stiles’ blinked and backed off. It scared him to see so much pain and anger in Isaac’s eyes. But if Isaac didn’t want to talk about it, there was nothing Stiles could do. Until it hit him.

“Shit, was it, was it my fault?” he asked, horrified.

And just like that Isaac was back to being the closed off, skittish boy Stiles recognized. He shook his head furiously. Stiles took a step closer, digging in his hoodie pocket and bringing out a pen. He uncapped it, taking another step forward. Isaac stared at him with confusion.

“May I?” Stiles asked, reaching for Isaac’s casted hand. Isaac let him wrap his fingers around the underside of his wrist, holding his arm steady as Stiles leaned in to draw an ‘S’ between his thumb and his forefinger. He figured if Isaac’s dad asked, he could pass it off as a doodle, but Isaac would know what it meant. It meant that somebody cared.

 

 

After that, Isaac began to open up a little more. He wasn’t suddenly spilling his guts to Stiles or anything, but every so often he would let something slip through, and give Stiles a tiny insight into what was going on in his head. Stiles slowly pieced together an image of this broken boy, and what he found gave him a sinking feeling in his stomach, a permanent painful lump in his throat.

Isaac’s brother had joined the military when Isaac was 12. After nine weeks of basic training, he was shipped off to Iraq. Three months later he put a bullet in his own head.

Isaac’s mom had left six months after Camden died. She told his father that there was nothing holding them together now that their son was dead. For the first time in his life Isaac realized that that’s what he was. Nothing.

Isaac’s dad didn’t used to hit him.

Stiles listened with moist eyes, and tucked Isaac’s secrets away, never prying, just letting Isaac talk to him when he was ready.

The entire summer passed this way. When Dave saw how well they were progressing with each other’s help, he started letting them go out in the hallway together while the rest of the group shared weekly updates. Most of the time they just talked about movies, or sports, or other mundane things—they discovered they both shared a love of superhero comics—but sometimes things got heavy.

Isaac told Stiles that Camden had e-mailed his father two weeks before he’d killed himself saying that he was going to ask for a dishonorable discharge because he couldn’t take it any longer. His father had punched a hole through the wall and told Camden that he wouldn’t have a home to come back to if he even thought about it.

Stiles told Isaac about his dad’s drinking problem, and how one time after the sheriff had passed out at his desk, Stiles had taken the bottle of whiskey and downed the remaining contents, making himself so sick he’d almost had to have his stomach pumped.

Isaac told Stiles that he’d cut himself for nearly a year after Camden died. He didn’t tell Stiles that he’d only stopped when the bloody bruises from his father had started mixing with the self-inflicted slashes and he could no longer clearly see his own handiwork. Just another element of control his father had taken away from him.

If Stiles had known the full extent of Mr. Lahey’s abuse, he wouldn’t have been able to keep his silence.

 

 

When school started in the fall, Stiles had assumed they would be friends. Or at least acquaintances who ate lunch together, sat next to each other in class, you know, _bros._ Apparently Isaac had other ideas. Aside from the occasional nod of acknowledgement, Isaac kept to himself just as much as he had in the past. Stiles tried to talk to him, but Isaac just gave him that little cocked eyebrow side look and a twisted smile and walked away.

Stiles called him out on it the next Saturday. They were sitting in the alcove outside the main group room. Stiles had his knees pulled up to his chest, sleeves pulled down over his hands. Isaac’s long legs were crossed and he was hunched forward, pulling idly at a loose thread on his jeans.

“What’s up?” Stiles asked, chewing on his bottom lip.

Isaac shrugged, not looking up. He yanked on the thread, further unraveling the hole. Stiles reached forward to still Isaac’s hand. Isaac froze at the touch, but Stiles didn’t retreat.  

“Talk to me.”

Isaac stared at Stiles’ hand, firmly pressed over his own. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, jaw clenched.

“This thing we have. It’s… good. But we can’t pretend that we’re friends. It doesn’t work that way.” He gave Stiles a small sad smile, and pulled his hand back. Then he stood up, rubbing the back of his neck and clearing his throat. “I gotta go,” he said, and just like that he was gone.

 

 

Three weeks into the school year Isaac stopped coming to therapy. At first Stiles thought he’d just missed a day, and his stomach flipped thinking of what could have happened, what Mr. Lahey could have done to his son this time. But then a week later, there was a new kid in Isaac’s seat. A big burly kid in a varsity wrestling jacket who smelled like Axe and cigarette smoke. Stiles swallowed, raising his hand to ask Dave where Isaac was.

“Isaac has completed his therapy,” Dave said simply, as if there was nothing strange about it at all. As if Isaac had suddenly and miraculously gotten better. As if he’d never had a dead brother and an abusive father.  Stiles sank back in his seat like the wind had been knocked out of him.  

 

 

Stiles tried to talk to Isaac in school again, but they weren’t in any classes together. On the occasions that Stiles caught a glimpse of Isaac in the hallways, he would try to make his way over to him, but every time Isaac saw him coming, he would dart away into a classroom.

Eventually Stiles gave up. It hurt, knowing that he had abandoned Isaac just like everyone else, but there wasn’t all that much he could do. Isaac didn’t want to talk to him, and that was that.

 

 

A year later Stiles had way more pressing things on his mind. His best friend was a werewolf and was dating a girl whose family wanted to kill him. Kate Argent was dead, but there was a new, even more terrifying threat dead set on avenging her. Derek Hale was a major creeper who enjoyed ruining the lives of innocent high school students a bit too much. His even creepier uncle had nearly killed Lydia, and instead turned her batshit crazy, running around naked in the woods for two days, which Stiles was definitely still furious about but wow was she hot.

Stiles had stopped going to therapy sometime during freshman year. He was as ‘better’ as he was ever going to get. The pain of loss was never going to go away, but he had learned to cope, learned to put things in perspective.

He hardly saw Isaac, until all of a sudden he was everywhere. Stiles didn’t think anything of it when he overheard his dad in his office talking on the phone about another brutal murder.  Until the name Lahey floated out and Stiles froze in his tracks.

The next few days were a shit storm. Between Isaac nearly wolfing out on the lacrosse field and Jackson being interrogated by the cops, Stiles was barely able to put together a coherent plan of action before Isaac was being driven away in the back seat of a police cruiser.

Stiles knew Isaac hadn’t done it. Wolf or not, regardless of the extent of the abuse, Isaac would never kill his father. Stiles couldn’t begin to say that he understood Isaac’s complicated psyche, but he knew that Isaac’s greatest fear was being alone. And he knew how scared Isaac must be right now. When Scott came to him telling him they needed to get Isaac out of the jailhouse, Stiles didn’t waste a minute before coming up with a plan. If Isaac ended up dead at the hands of the Argents, Stiles would never forgive himself. He would hold himself guilty and no one would be able to convince him that it hadn’t been his fault.

 

_2_

_When the hour is nigh and hopelessness is sinking in, and the wolves all cry…I will be your scarecrow._

Stiles and Isaac are in Deaton’s clinic. Stiles is stocking up on mountain ash, and Isaac is absent-mindedly scratching behind the ears of a golden retriever that Deaton found wandering around the woods and nursed back to health. They still haven’t spoken much, despite being thrust together more and more since Isaac’s transformation. They’re rarely alone though, so Stiles hasn’t had a chance to bring up any of the important topics which he fears have become taboo anyway.

When Deaton goes back into his office Stiles turns to watch Isaac, who suddenly seems fascinated with the dog’s collar. He doesn’t know what to say. How do you start a conversation like this? _Hey, your dad just got slashed to pieces, you’re on the run from child services, and now you have claws and fangs. How ya doin’ buddy?_ So instead he stays quiet, but moves slightly closer to Isaac so their arms are just barely touching. Isaac’s hand freezes, then slowly he tilts his head to look at Stiles. He’s peering at Stiles like he’s trying to read his thoughts, eyes flickering back and forth. Stiles can’t turn away. He can’t do much of anything. Isaac’s stare has the strength of a force field.

Finally Stiles opens his mouth to say something, though what comes out isn’t really what he had planned.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes.

Isaac’s eyebrows furrow and his jaw clenches as he swallows.

“What for?”

Stiles shifts uncomfortably. When he thinks objectively about it, he knows he hasn’t actually done anything to Isaac. But it doesn’t make him feel any less guilty. If he were still in therapy, Dave would tell him he had a self-blaming personality and a destructive tendency to overthink. But all that psychobabble mumbo jumbo wouldn’t change the fact that Stiles holds himself responsible for Isaac feeling desperate enough to accept the bite from Derek.

So Stiles purses his lips, unable to meet Isaac’s eyes, and says “Sorry for not being there. Sorry shit happened. Sorry—”

Isaac cuts him off with a curt, “Not your fault.”

But it doesn’t matter because Stiles is going to feel guilty until he fixes this. And goddammit Isaac stop making that face with the wide, forlorn eyes and the twisted smile that puts a painful lump in Stiles’ throat.

 Stiles gulps but pushes forward. “Why did you stop coming to group meetings?” he asks in a rush.

Isaac quirks his lips in a wry grimace. “Couldn’t,” he says unhelpfully.

Stiles huffs, then asks the real question. “Why did you stop talking to me?”

Isaac is silent for a beat, then answers quietly. “Didn’t want to be a burden.”

Deaton comes back before Stiles can say anything in response. Isaac steps to the side and puts a good foot of space between them. His shoulders hunch even more, which Stiles didn’t even know was possible.

This is progress though, and Stiles will take it.

He finishes filling the leather pouch with Mountain Ash and tucks it into his pocket. Deaton hands him the printouts of the pages of research they’d been poring over earlier. Isaac’s attention lingers on the dog while Stiles thanks Deaton and starts to head towards the door.

“You coming?” He asks Isaac.

Isaac nods, but then turns to Deaton. “She doesn’t have an owner, yeah?” he asks, hand still scratching gently behing the Retriever’s ears. Deaton shakes his head. “No one’s come to claim her in nearly a week. I’ll have to take her to a shelter if someone doesn’t show up by the weekend.”

Isaac chews his lip. “I… I’ll take her. If no one else does. Would that be okay?”

Deaton smiles. “That would be great,” he says. The look on Isaac’s face is priceless. A real smile for the first time since Stiles’ met him. The lump in his throat grows, wishing that he could make Isaac happy like that. Maybe someday. When he convinces Isaac that he’s not a burden. That he really does want to be there for him.

Isaac grabs his backpack, thanking Deaton again, and they head out of the clinic.

 “I lied,” Isaac says out of the blue when they’re back in Stiles’ jeep.

“What?” Stiles has no idea what he’s talking about. His fingers drum absently on the steering wheel.

“I mean, I wasn’t exactly honest. When I said I didn’t want to be a burden. I… It’s more that I didn’t want to get close to you. I didn’t want to care about you. Because then it would actually hurt when you left.”

Stiles’ furrows his brow, mouth open indignantly, “What makes you think I would leave?”

Isaac gives a sad smile, “People always do.”

Stiles stares. He knows Isaac has a low opinion of himself, a self-esteem so fucked up it even puts  Stiles’ to shame, but to think that Isaac couldn’t even trust _him_ to be genuine, to actually give a damn and try to stick around…

Stiles pulls to a stop at a red light and turns to face Isaac. He looks straight into those icy blue eyes, making sure Isaac is listening and that what Stiles is about to say actually gets through to him.

“I’m going to make you a promise. Right here. And I swear to god I will keep it,” his voice cracks and he swallows before continuing. “I’m going to be here for you. I’m going to be your friend. I’m going to stick around for so long that you’re going to get sick of me.”

Isaac looks away. “Stiles…”

“Stiles what? Did you hear what I said? I’m. Your. Friend.”

He’ll say it over and over again until it sinks in. He’ll keep reminding Isaac that someone cares until Isaac finally starts to believe it. Because goddammit, he’s going to fix this.

Isaac doesn’t say anything for at least a minute. When he finally looks up at Stiles his eyes are moist.

“P-promise?” he mumbles.

“Promise,” Stiles answers with a resolute nod.

Isaac smiles again. Not as big, and much more hesitant, but Stiles can’t help but join in because wow twice in one day, how lucky could a guy get?

 

 

Isaac ends up taking the dog. He names her Cammy, for Camden, and somehow convinces Derek that he can keep her in the apartment and she won’t pee on everything or try to chew on the couch. Stiles goes with Isaac to PetSmart to buy a metal crate and a giant bag of Iams dog food and carries it back in the jeep.

So far the ‘friends’ thing is working out pretty great. Isaac’s not Scott, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Scott’s great to hang out with, tons of fun, always up for shenanigans, but Isaac and Stiles seem to connect on a different level. Isaac understands Stiles in a way that Scott was never able to. And Stiles has told Isaac things he’s never told anyone. It’s not that Scott would judge him—Scott isn’t like that at all—it’s just that he wouldn’t know what to say. And Isaac doesn’t always know what to say either, but he knows when not to say anything and that’s just as important.

Isaac and Stiles go to the lacrosse field to practice, and bring Cammy with them. She chases after stray balls and brings them back to Isaac, nudging his leg with her nose and putting a giant smile on his face. Stiles has made it his mission to get Isaac to smile at least once a day. He’s been surprisingly successful so far.

 

 

One day they’re sitting on the bleachers as the sun goes down and it starts to get cold. Stiles has his knees tight up against his chest, hood pulled over his head. Isaac is laying on his back, long arms bent to cradle his head. Cammy’s worn herself out running up and down the field and is curled up asleep under the bleachers.

Isaac looks up at the sky. The first stars are peaking out. Venus and the Big Dipper are just visible.

“Do you believe in heaven?” he asks.

Stiles pulls his sleeves down tighter over his hands and rubs his nose. “I have to.”

“Because of your mom.” Isaac tilts his head back to look up at Stiles.

Stiles nods. “You?”

Isaac shrugs. “Means I have to believe in God, right?”

“Not necessarily.”

Isaac furrows his brow.

Stiles continues. “At least, not the God you learn about in Sunday school. Or from those crazy preachers picketing funerals. I believe in God. I believe there’s a greater purpose. I believe someone has a plan. I believe in the afterlife, because I can’t imagine a world where I don’t get to see my mom again.”

Isaac closes his eyes. “I don’t really believe in anything.”

Stiles doesn’t even think before saying quietly, “I believe in you.”

Isaac stills. Then he pushes himself up on his elbows and turns around to look at Stiles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Isaac’s lip twitches up in a half smile as he slides his legs so he’s sitting upright, facing Stiles. “I believe in you too.”

 

 

Three nights later it’s the full moon. Derek is occupied with Erica and Boyd and Jackson, and Scott is lurking somewhere near Allison’s house, so Stiles goes over to Derek and Isaac’s apartment. Isaac is tense and jumpy but shows no signs of shifting. Stiles plops himself down on the couch and hands Isaac the DVD he brought. It’s _Captain America_ , because last week they were talking about their shared love of Marvel, and Isaac said he hadn’t been allowed to go to the theater to see it when it came out.

The couch is soft, and Stiles is exhausted from a late night studying for a chemistry exam, and he soon finds himself drifting off. He catches himself, jerking awake and trying to focus on the movie, but he can’t manage to keep his eyes open. His head lolls to the side and ends up resting gingerly on Isaac’s shoulder. Isaac gives Stiles a sideways glance, a small smile ghosting over his lips. Then he lifts his arm to wrap around Stiles’ shoulders and nudges him closer. Stiles instinctively curls into Isaac’s side, and Isaac’s heartbeat speeds up like a jet taking off. He knows his eyes are glowing gold, but he reins in the wolf, focusing on his anchor instead.

Derek comes home in the middle of the night to find them both asleep on the couch, Isaac draped protectively over Stiles. He tosses a blanket over them, then smiles and turns out the light.

When Stiles wakes up the next morning, he’s alone. There’s a blanket over his legs that he doesn’t remember putting there. He sits up, looking around for Isaac. He hears noises in the kitchen so he wraps the blanket around his shoulders and groggily makes his way there.

“You should have woken me up—,” he mumbles but then abruptly cuts off when he realizes it isn’t Isaac in the kitchen but a shirtless Derek making scrambled eggs. “Oh. Hi Derek.”

“Stiles,” Derek says, eyebrow raised slightly in amusement.

“Is Isaac here?”

Derek shakes his head. “He went for a run with the dog. Said to tell you he’d be out for a while.”

“Oh.” Stiles looks down, chewing on his lip. “Uh, sorry. I guess I’ll go now.”

Derek shrugs, “Or you could eat breakfast.”

Stiles stares at him. Nothing about this scene makes sense. Stiles is standing in Derek Hale’s kitchen watching Derek Hale make eggs after having passed out on Derek Hale’s couch. “Uh have you been possessed or something? Since when are you nice? Usually it’s ‘shut up Stiles’ and then I get brutally shoved into the nearest hard surface.”

Derek is still looking at him like he’s the funniest thing on earth. “Just being polite.” He reaches into the cabinet to get two plates and spoons eggs onto them. He holds one out to Stiles expectantly.

Stiles manages to unfreeze himself and step forward to take the plate.

They eat in silence, until Derek says nonchalantly as if he’s talking about the weather, “You hurt him, and I will end you.”

Stiles stares with his fork halfway to his mouth. “What?” he stammers.

“You heard me. If you hurt Isaac, I will rip your throat out with my teeth.”

And there was the Derek that Stiles recognized.

Stiles can’t help but feel slightly offended. “Isaac is my friend. Why would I hurt him?”

Derek shakes his head. “Not saying you will, just saying you _can_.”

And Stiles knows that. He knows he’s been given a powerful gift—Isaac’s trust. There is nothing in the world that could make him willingly give that up.

He wishes Isaac was there. They need to talk. They _really_ need to talk. Because Stiles woke up briefly around two in the morning and Isaac was _spooning_ him.

And it was _nice._

And he knows Isaac well enough to know that he is probably freaking out somewhere in the woods.

He finishes eating and pushes his chair back from the table. “I gotta go,” he says to Derek, “Tell Isaac to come over when he gets back. If he wants to.”

Derek nods and watches Stiles retreat into the living room to pick up his bag. As he descends the stairs down from the apartment he’s nearly knocked off his feet by a flying mass of golden fur. He can’t help laughing as he reaches out to pet Cammy, leaning down to rub his nose into her mane, gushing baby talk as she attempts to lick his face.

Isaac is leaning against a pillar, grinning as he watches Stiles.

“Hey,” he says when Stiles stands up.

“Hey,” Stiles replies.

Then there’s awkward silence.

Stiles has no idea how to say what it is he wants to, so he starts with “I talked to Derek.”

“Yeah?” Isaac looks up at him through his eyelashes.

“He basically asked me my intentions,” Stiles says, chewing his lip and trying to contain his smile.

Isaac scrunches his nose. “And?” his shoulders are tense, and he’s eying Stiles with skepticism.

Stiles takes a step closer to Isaac. “And…” he glances down, scrubbing the back of his neck with his hand. He looks up. He and Isaac are less than a foot apart. He stares straight into Isaac’s eyes, unflinchingly and says “I intend to do whatever it takes to keep you happy.” And then he closes the distance between them, throwing his arms around Isaac’s neck and burying his face in Isaac’s shoulder.

Isaac slowly brings his arms up to close around Stiles’ waist.

“Does this mean..?”

 “Means whatever you want it to,” Stiles nods, his voice is muffled by Isaac’s shirt.

Isaac keeps one hand on Stiles’ back and uses the other to nudge his chin up so he can see his face. There’s only a small height difference between them so it’s easy for Isaac to close the gap and press his lips to Stiles’. It’s a short kiss—neither of them really know what they’re doing—but it sends a tingle down Stiles’ spine nonetheless. Isaac rests his forehead against Stiles’ grinning. He has both his arms snug around Stiles’ waist, their bodies pressed flush against each other. Stiles dives in for another quick peck and then purses his lips.

“Why did you leave this morning?”

Isaac shrugs sheepishly. “I freaked out. Had a bit of an existential crisis. So Cammy and I went running so I could clear my head.”

Cammy perks up at the sound of her name and comes over to nudge at the back of Stiles’ knee. They both reach down to pet her and their hands touch. Stiles smiles. “Next time you better not leave,” he says.

 

 

When Stiles gets home his dad is waiting at the door with a stern look on his face. He’s about to leave for a 24 hour shift at the station and he does not look pleased.

“What?” Stiles asks, wondering what he could have possibly done now.

His dad rolls his eyes. “Don’t give me that. You told me you were spending the night at Scott’s. Well, Scott showed up an hour ago looking for you. I was about to call a search party.”

Stiles puts his hands up. “Sorry. I wasn’t at Scott’s.”

The sheriff frowns. “What, no elaborate story? You’re just going to throw in the towel?”

Stiles shrugs. “Punish me if you want, it was worth it.”

Now the sheriff thinks he knows what is going on. “Stiles, do we need to have the talk?”

Stiles laughs. “Really dad? I’m sixteen. I think I know everything you could possibly tell me.” He doesn’t mention that his dad would probably be just as lost in this specific area as he is. But it’s not like anything happened, or is likely to happen in the near future. He and Isaac are definitely going to take this slow.

“You better not get anyone preg—”

“Dad!” Stiles shrieks cutting him off. “No!”

“What? I’m just saying…” his dad protests

“It’s not like that.” Stiles assures him.

The sheriff seems sufficiently placated so Stiles slides past him to head to his room. When he’s halfway up the stairs he turns around. “Oh, is it okay if Isaac comes over tonight?”

“Of course it is,” his dad narrows his eyes, “Wait a minute Stiles, do you—”

“Thanks, Dad! Gotta go study. Don’t bother me, wouldn’t want to fail chemistry because of you.” Stiles bolts into his room, shutting the door behind him. The sheriff is left dumbfounded at the bottom of the stairs.

 

 

Isaac comes over that night around dinner time. Stiles hasn’t been able to focus on his work all day so he’s given up and is playing _Left 4 Dead_ when Isaac rings the doorbell. Stiles shouts out that it’s open and hears the knob turn as Isaac lets himself in. Stiles scoots over on the couch to make a space for Isaac, who’s staring at him with an incredulous look.

“What?” Stiles frowns. “You’re acting like you’ve never been in my house before.”

Isaac shakes his head in wonder. “Feels different now, somehow.”

“Different, good?” Stiles asks, tensing.

“Really good.” Isaac grins finally joining Stiles on the couch.

Stiles immediately curls into Isaac’s side. Then he looks up at Isaac, suddenly concerned. “This is okay, right?” he asks.

Isaac nods fervently.

Stiles tosses him an Xbox controller. “Here, help me kick some rabid psycho butt,” he says. He’s reminded of the first time he and Isaac ever actually hung out, when they went to get pizza after therapy session. He thinks about how Isaac said he wasn’t allowed to go to Stiles’ house to play video games. It hits him for the umpteenth time just how different their childhoods were. He wishes he’d been more persuasive and convinced him to let Stiles into his life then. He wonders, as he does on a regular basis, if he could have made a difference. If he could have saved Isaac from the last two years of abuse. If he could have spared Isaac from the desperation that led him to accepting the bite.

He knows it’s useless now, he can’t go back and change anything. All he can do is try to give Isaac whatever he needs. He’ll give him anything and everything. He made a promise, and he intends on keeping it.

Isaac smiles so much more now, and Stiles can’t help but feel a warm pool of pride deep inside at the fact that he’s responsible. He smiles back and leans into Isaac’s embrace, letting Isaac kiss his forehead.

Isaac sucks at _Left 4 Dead_ , but it’s okay because Stiles is good enough for the both of them. He covers Isaac’s butt in the game like he wishes he could do in real life, except well, he is only human so it would be more likely be Isaac saving him than the other way around. That’s another thought that constantly nags at Stiles. He hates being so helpless. He hates that the wolves are constantly saving his stupid human ass. And the few times he’s actually managed to do something have pretty much been accidental flukes. Holding Derek up in the pool wouldn’t have done much good if the kanima hadn’t been scared of water.

Mostly he doesn’t want Isaac to have to worry about him. Isaac has enough on his plate without feeling obligated to protect Stiles every time he gets himself into some ridiculous and completely avoidable situation. If Isaac ever were to get hurt because of him, Stiles wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

Stiles realizes that they’ve been staring at the game menu for nearly five minutes. He was so deep in thought that he hadn’t even noticed. He looks over at Isaac to apologize and sees that Isaac is watching him apprehensively and chewing worrisomely on the inside of his lower lip.

“Sorry, spaced out, ADHD,” Stiles explains apologetically.

But Isaac doesn’t stop staring.

“Are you okay?” he asks, “I mean, really okay. This is a two way street, Stiles, you gotta tell me when something’s wrong too.”

Stiles forces a smile. “Nothing’s wrong. I’ve never been happier.” He hopes Isaac believes him. Because he really is happy—Jesus, this is _incredible_ —but the racing thoughts in his head just won’t leave him alone.

Isaac doesn’t say anything, but he pulls Stiles closer, wrapping his long strong arms tightly around him.

“I’ve got you,” Isaac whispers, pressing his face into Stiles’ shoulder. And that helps, because God Isaac smells good, but it doesn’t fix the underlying issue. Stiles will manage though. He’s good at that—managing. And he’ll be there for Isaac with every fiber of his being.

Stiles smiles and reaches up to cup Isaac’s cheek. He runs his thumb over Isaac’s sharp cheekbone and then leans in to press his lips to Isaac’s. He keeps his eyes open long enough to see Isaac’s flutter shut as he kisses back.

The game is entirely forgotten as Isaac pulls Stiles closer so he’s straddling Isaac’s hips. Stiles cups Isaac’s jaw with one hand while the other snakes around to embed itself in Isaac’s curly locks. Isaac’s hands are on Stiles’ waist, thumbs digging into his hipbones while his fingers spread wide over Stiles’ ass. Stiles attacks Isaac’s mouth. He sucks at Isaac’s lower lip almost ravenously and grins as the hands on his waist dig in deeper. Isaac tosses his head back when Stiles moves to his neck, sucking a deep red bruise just below Isaac’s ear, which fades as soon as he pulls back, but causes Isaac to make these dog-like whimpers in the back of his throat.

Stiles hadn’t realized how much he needed this. He’s kept everything so tightly pent up inside that to finally be able to let it out in a purely physical way is like a giant permeating wave of relief gushing through him.

Stiles’ breath hitches in his throat as Isaac’s fingers slip up under his t-shirt. This is completely new territory for both of them, but Stiles would swear Isaac is a goddamn pro with the way his tongue is making tender swipes in all the right places.

They kiss until Stiles’ lips are swollen and he pulls away sighing. He rocks back so he’s sitting between Isaac’s legs, knees bent and resting on Isaac’s sides.

“Wow,” he breathes, grinning wide-eyed at Isaac. Isaac tries to bite back his laughter but fails. His smile is so wide it’s contagious and Stiles finds himself joining in. Isaac leans forward, resting his elbows on Stiles’ knees and using his forearms to support his chin.

“I’m definitely going to keep you,” he muses.

They dissolve into laughter, Stiles almost rolling off the couch. Finally they both end up on the floor, tangled in each other’s arms. Stiles leans in to rest his forehead against Isaac’s.

“Good, because I’m not going anywhere.”

 

 

_3_

_If you love somebody, better tell them while they’re here ‘cause they just may run away from you._

Three weeks later Stiles tells Isaac he loves him. It comes out accidentally. Not that he hasn’t been thinking it this whole time, but he’d always held back from saying it aloud because he didn’t want to put that pressure on Isaac. He didn’t want Isaac to think that he was expected to say it back.

He says it while lying curled up in Isaac’s arms on the couch in Derek’s living room. Derek is gone for the weekend with Peter. Stiles is shirtless, and Isaac’s jeans are strewn on the floor. There’s a sticky wet spot on Isaac’s boxers where Stiles made him cum with his hand, and Stiles’ chest is littered with purple bruises and teeth marks.

He’s drifting off to sleep when he says it. Mumbles it really. Isaac is rubbing slow circles on his back and Stiles’ face is buried in Isaac’s t-shirt.  As soon as he says it he pales, looking up at Isaac with a stricken expression. Isaac doesn’t say anything, but he kisses Stiles’ forehead and continues to rub his back until he falls asleep.

 

 

When Isaac says it, Stiles ends up with a concussion. They’re out on the field practicing lacrosse with Scott and Boyd. They’re doing 1v1 drills and right now Scott and Boyd are facing off near the midfield while Isaac leans against the side of the goal and Stiles talks at him, mouth going a million miles an hour.

He’s saying something about Orcs being one of the saddest and under-pitied races of evil beings when Isaac just stares him straight in the eye and says it. Stiles’ mouth gapes open, suddenly wordless.

And then a lacrosse ball comes out of nowhere and slams against his left temple. He turns to look at Scott in shock not really registering the pain until moments later when he’s on the ground and Isaac is kneeling next to him waving a hand in front of his eyes and Scott is standing over them gushing apologies.

“Ow?” he mumbles.

“Shit Stiles I’m so sorry! I wasn’t thinking! Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital? Oh my god.” Scott is babbling and looks like he’s on the verge of tears or a complete nervous breakdown.

“ ‘M fine…”  Stiles protests, trying to sit up. The dizziness hits him almost immediately and he’s back on the ground groaning.

Boyd comes back with an icepack, having somehow been the only one able to think calmly and logically. Isaac holds it to Stiles’ head as he gently lifts him into a sitting position.

“You’re not fine,” Isaac says, a tremor in his voice. “You should get this checked out.” His hands are shaking.

Scott still looks terrified. “I can call my mom, she should be at home now.”

Isaac nods and Stiles tries to stand up, using Isaac’s arms for balance. “Whoa nelly,” he mutters as another wave of dizziness hits him, this time accompanied by nausea. He leans against Isaac, resisting the sudden urge to puke up his breakfast. “Jesus, Scott,” he slurs, “Did you use every drop of your wolfy powers on that ball?” His eyes are fluttering shut as he sinks into Isaac’s embrace.

“Come on Stiles, you have to stay awake.” Isaac murmurs near his ear. Stiles makes a face, nose scrunched and lips tugged to the side.

“But’so’comfy,” he mumbles.

And suddenly he’s not standing on the ground any more. Isaac has one arm around his shoulders and the other under his knees and is carrying him towards his jeep. He somehow ends up buckled into the passenger seat and Isaac starts driving to the hospital after fighting to get the jeep to start. Stiles finds this all irrationally funny and is giggling like a madman.

“Keep talking to me Stiles. Don’t fall asleep.” Isaac is panicking. Stiles is vaguely aware of that. But everything is just _hilarious_ right now. He rolls his eyes. “You love me,” he says in a singsong tone.

“Yeah Stiles, I do,” Isaac says quietly, not finding any of this nearly as amusing as Stiles appears to.

“Cheer up puppy, I’m gonna be fine.” Stiles’ eyes go alarmingly crossed as he tries to focus them on Isaac.

Stiles doesn’t remember much of the next two hours. He finally breaks out of his concussion induced haze and registers that he is in his own bed. His dad is sitting, tense and worried, next to the bed. Stiles raises a hand to wave at him. Then he glances around for Isaac and doesn’t see him, but he hears footsteps in the hallway and knows he’s pacing back and forth. Stiles can’t help the small smile that forms on his face.

“Stiles!” his father exclaims when he realizes his son is finally aware of his surroundings.

“Hey, Dad. How bad does it look?” Stiles grimaces, jokingly.

“Like you’ve got a grapefruit growing out of the side of your head. How do you feel? Need something to drink?”

Stiles nods. “ ‘M fine. Water would be great.”

His dad pushes himself out of the chair and starts to head to the door. He turns around before he gets there, looking slightly awkward. “Your—ah—Isaac is outside. He was really worried. You want him to come in?”

Stiles nods, then winces as the movement sends a throbbing pain to his temple.

Isaac comes bounding in like a lost puppy, racing to Stiles’ side and kneeling down. He cups Stiles’ face in his hand. “Are you okay?” he asks, voice hoarse.

Stiles smiles. “Peachy,” he jokes. Isaac shoots him a look for his cheekiness.

“I love you,” he says again, this time far more confident and with just a hint of desperation. “And um, your dad might think I’m insane. I kinda refused to let you out of my sight. Started having a panic attack when Ms. McCall kicked me out of the exam room.”

Stiles chuckles. He scoots over in the bed and pats the space next to him. Isaac kicks off his shoes and slides in under the covers.

When Sheriff Stilinski comes back with Stiles’ water, his son is asleep, head resting on Isaac’s shoulder while Isaac’s fingers trail gently up and down his arm. He doesn’t have to force the smile that tugs at his lips as he sets the glass down on the bedside table.

 

 

When Stiles is finally given doctor’s permission to “resume normal physical activity,” he and Isaac climb up the hill that overlooks the town to watch the meteor shower. They lie on their backs on a blanket, bodies touching. Isaac’s arm supports Stiles’ head and his hand strokes through Stiles’ hair which he’s starting to grow out.

Stiles points excitedly at the first meteor, smiling at Isaac and saying, “Make a wish.”

Isaac shakes his head. “Don’t have to wish for anything,” he says, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ cheek.

Stiles rolls his eyes, by this time used to Isaac’s incredibly cliché—but still appreciated—professions of adoration. “Seriously,” he tries again. “If there’s anything you could have, anything you could do, right now at this moment in time, what would it be?”

Isaac doesn’t say anything for a moment and Stiles isn’t sure if he’s ignoring him or thinking. Then Isaac tilts his head back, staring up at the sky and chewing on his lips.

“If I could do _anything_ I would…” he trails off, swallowing.

“Yeah?” Stiles prods.

But Isaac doesn’t continue. Instead he pushes himself, up and moves so he’s kneeling over Stiles, who looks up at him with just a hint of apprehension. Isaac leans down to kiss him, holding himself up with one hand, while the other trails down Stiles’ chest. When it reaches the hem of his shirt, he starts to slip the garment up over Stiles’ head. Stiles lifts his arms so Isaac can pull the shirt off and then dives in to steal a kiss.

And then Isaac’s lips are gone. Stiles barely has time to mourn the loss before he’s tossing his head back and flopping weakly to the ground as Isaac presses warm kisses to his stomach. Isaac deftly unbuttons Stiles jeans, nudging them down over Stiles’ thin hips. He trails his lips down to Stiles’ boxers, kissing him through the fabric. Stiles’ cock twitches to attention as Isaac’s lips ghost over it. He wants to bury his hand in Isaac’s hair and push him closer, but he holds back the urge, letting Isaac take his time.

Stiles’ cock is agonizingly hard when Isaac finally pulls down his boxers. His jeans are bunched around his bent knees. Isaac pushes his thighs gently apart and presses kisses closer and closer to Stiles’ dick. Stiles squirms, panting with arousal. Isaac smiles against the inside of his thigh and gently nips at the tender flesh, eliciting a whimper from Stiles.

Finally his long fingers wrap around Stiles’ cock and he takes the tip into his mouth. Stiles’ hands clench into fists, clutching at the blanket underneath him. Isaac bobs down, looking up at Stiles through his lashes and that’s just too much for Stiles. He throws his head back groaning and grabs at the back of Isaac’s head, stammering his name. Isaac flattens his tongue against Stiles’ swollen cock and dives down, swallowing as much as he can. Stiles has one hand in Isaac’s hair, the other flailing against the ground as his back arches and his hips buck upwards. His knees squeeze together around Isaac’s hips.

“I-Isaac,” he stutters, “Gonna… cum.”

Isaac looks up at him with those wide baby blues and it pushes Stiles over the edge. He cries out as his hips stutter under Isaac’s hold and he orgasms. Isaac pulls back, looking surprised as he swallows. Then he leans forward again to lick up the cum still dripping from Stiles’ cock onto his stomach.

Stiles tugs at Isaac’s shirt, pulling him up so he can kiss him. His breathing is still strained, heart racing. Isaac smiles as he presses his cheek to Stiles’ chest. They lay like that until Stiles regains the use of his body. Then he gently pushes Isaac off onto the ground and kicks off his pants so he can climb on top of him. He vaguely realizes that this is the first time he’s been completely naked for Isaac. He would be self-conscious, but Isaac is staring at him with such genuine, raw desire and reaching up to paw greedily at his chest and stomach. Stiles bends down, pressing his nose to Isaac’s jaw and breathing heavily as he says “I want you inside me”.

Isaac’s eyes go wide and he stammers, “A-are you sure?”

Stiles nods and reaches into his bag for the lube that’s been there for nearly a month. He’s wanted this for so long, but he wanted the timing to be perfect. And this was perfect. He’s just had his mind completely blown by Isaac’s mouth, and he wants to be able to do this for Isaac. He’s definitely prepared for this. He stole a box of condoms from Scott who’s not using them anymore now that Allison isn’t talking to him, and he’s been, well, preparing, you know, _himself_. Because dammit this has to be perfect.

He kisses Isaac, assuring him that yes, he is certain, and then goes about undressing him. Isaac tenses when Stiles starts to lift up his shirt. Stiles quirks his head, questioningly and Isaac apologizes.

“No, tell me if something’s wrong,” Stiles persists.

He knows Isaac is self-conscious about his body. He never takes off his shirt. But Stiles thought they had reached the point where Isaac was comfortable enough. Still if Isaac didn’t want to, it was okay. Stiles lets the fabric drop from his hands, instead going to unbuckle Isaac’s belt.

But then suddenly Isaac grabs his hands and brings them back to his shirt. “It’s okay. You can take it off. Just don’t—don’t be shocked okay?”

Stiles doesn’t know what Isaac could possibly be talking about. But he nods and starts to lift the shirt up off of Isaac’s stomach. Immediately he sees what Isaac is referring to. His hipbones are covered with jagged white scars. As he raises the shirt farther, he sees that they continue up his sides clear to his rib cage. The lines themselves are jagged, but their placement is methodical, parallel rows of self-harm that cover Isaac’s torso like an abandoned train track.

He realizes he’s been holding his breath and tries to let it out calmly, but it catches in his throat and comes out with a whimper. Isaac sees how distraught Stiles is and shakes it off.

“It’s not that big a deal. I told you I stopped ages ago. It’s really not—”

Stiles cuts him off by kissing him. Then he pulls back and says “It is a big deal. It’s a really big deal,” he chews on his lip because crying during sex is really not cool and he doesn’t want to kill the mood because he wants to give Isaac this so much. So instead he swallows the lump in his throat and says, “I love you, okay?”

And Isaac nods. They’re going to be okay.

Stiles returns to Isaac’s belt and undoes the button of his pants, sliding them down. His hand grazes the bulge in Isaac’s boxers and he can feel how hard Isaac is. He smiles as he tugs off the underwear. Isaac moves to flip them over, but Stiles shakes his head. He doesn’t want Isaac to have to do all the work, doesn’t want Isaac to be worried about hurting him.

He leans down to take Isaac’s cock into his mouth while he reaches for the lube. When Isaac closes his eyes, a moan fluttering from deep in his throat, Stiles squeezes some lube onto his fingers and reaches around to slick up his still oh-so-tight hole. His breath hitches at the touch of his own fingers and he can’t even begin to fathom how great Isaac is going to feel inside of him.

He reaches for a condom, taking a detour on the way to kiss Isaac, slipping his tongue tenderly along the inside of his lower lip. Isaac pushes himself up with his elbows and helps Stiles slide the condom onto his already aching cock.

“I love you,” he mumbles, arousal making him sound drunk. Stiles presses their foreheads together, smiling. Then he nudges Isaac back to the ground and shifts so he’s kneeling, knees spread wide on either side of Isaac’s hips. He strokes himself a few times and then slowly lowers himself onto Isaac’s cock. They both gasp as Isaac enters Stiles. Stiles squeezes his eyes shut tightly as he adjusts, while Isaac watches him with fascination. Isaac’s hands find their way to Stiles’ waist helping to balance him as he starts to move. Stiles leans down to kiss Isaac and his cock presses against Isaac’s stomach, hard again. Then he sits up, moaning at the movement, and has his hands on Isaac’s chest, trailing them down to his waist. Isaac’s hands slip down to Stiles’ thighs, and then he reaches up to grasp Stiles’ ass, squeezing as Stiles speeds up his pace. Stiles knows he’s making obscene sounds and is seriously praying that no one is lurking around in the woods. Though honestly he’s not sure he would care if someone heard them. He’s literally in another world right now. Isaac’s fingernails dig into his ass as he nears his climax. Stiles tries to jerk himself but can’t balance on top of Isaac and stroke himself at the same time so Isaac takes over.

It doesn’t take long, and Isaac’s stokes become jerky as he nears his orgasm, but that only serves to bring Stiles closer himself. Isaac shoots first, coming hard inside Stiles, who follows shortly after, spilling his seed on both his and Isaac’s stomachs. He holds himself up with his arms, panting. Gradually he lifts himself off of Isaac and crawls up to drape himself over the other boy.

“Jesus,” Isaac murmurs just as Stiles breathes, “Holy shit.”

They both dissolve into drunken laughter. Isaac kisses Stiles’ neck and wraps his arms tight around his waist. He closes his eyes and muses, “I could literally die right now. And there is no way heaven could possibly be better than this.”

Stiles smiles sleepily. “Please don’t though,” he says into Isaac’s shoulder.

Isaac smiles and reaches for the edge of the blanket to wrap it around them.

 

 

When Stiles drives Isaac home the next morning, Derek gives him a look that’s all amused eyebrows and Stiles pouts defensively. “What?”

Derek shrugs. “Welcome to the pack,” he says.

Stiles cheeks go bright red and Isaac just laughs and steals a kiss, which just further adds to Stiles’ mortification. But inside he feels a twinge of something, like a mixture of nervous excitement  and utter joy, and he can’t help but smile.

 

 

_Epilogue_

_Where do we go from here? Where do we go from here?_

 

The summer after their sophomore year was pretty much a blur of lazy Saturday mornings, lying in bed, absently tracing the lines of each other’s muscles and stealing kisses, and hot and steamy nights where Stiles experienced pleasure that he didn’t even know existed, and just simply watching movies together, playing video games, and racing through the woods which always ended up with Stiles as a panting mess and Isaac jogging circles around him like a hyperactive puppy.

When junior year started, Stiles asked his dad if Isaac could move in with them, into the spare bedroom of course. His dad looked at him like he’d grown a second head and said no way was he going to let his 17 year old son have a _live-in boyfriend_ , but he reconsidered when he found out Isaac had been sleeping on a couch for the past five months.

Nothing really changed when Isaac moved in, bringing Cammy with him. They slept in their separate beds for the most part, except sometimes Stiles would wake up from a dream in the middle of the night in a cold sweat and would silently pad down the hall to Isaac’s room and slip in under his blanket. Or Isaac would be lying awake for hours and hours, tossing and turning, until finally he would sneak into Stiles’ room and Stiles would wrap his arms tight around him and he would be asleep in seconds.

They talked more too. They’d finally reached a point where they were as comfortable with each other as they were with their own minds. More-so actually, because in talking to each other, they were able to get out things they hadn’t even quite admitted to themselves.

Stiles finally confessed to Isaac the extent of his insecurities—the constant fear that he wasn’t good enough because he was just a human, that he didn’t want Isaac to have to always be worrying about him. Isaac had taken Stiles’ face in both his hands and looked him square in the eye and told him that he liked worrying about Stiles, that he wanted to be his protector, and that he in turn was terrified that he wasn’t good enough for Stiles and had a debilitating fear that one day Stiles would come to his senses and realize he was dating a monster.

Isaac was stronger because of Stiles. He was almost on par with Derek. With Stiles as his anchor, he was completely in control of his wolf. The only time his restraint waivered was when Stiles was in danger. Stiles had a run-in with an omega—which was kind of his own fault, though not entirely as Isaac managed to convince him later—and Isaac ended up ripping the psycho to shreds before he’d even had the time to ask if Stiles was okay. He wouldn’t let Stiles out of his sight for at least a week after that.

It took a lot of convincing, but Stiles eventually believed that he wasn’t a burden to the pack. That even though he couldn’t contribute physically, he was just as valued a member as Isaac or any of the betas. That ‘strength in numbers’ wasn’t a myth. And Stiles, for all his attention issues, was an incredibly dedicated researcher. He would stay up late into the night, pouring over ancient leather-bound books with yellowing pages that he’d found at thrift stores, yard sales, and the occasional occult store, and Isaac would give him backrubs while he stressed over difficult translations, and sometimes fall asleep while sitting with his arms draped around Stiles’ shoulders.

Stiles hadn’t had a panic attack since the day Isaac said he loved him. And even the nightmares were becoming few and far between.

It wasn’t a perfect relationship—neither of their fucked up inner-psyches would allow for that—but it was the best thing either of them had ever experienced or even hoped to experience in their wildest fantasies. Stiles helped Isaac become more confident and Isaac kept Stiles from getting too caught up in his own headspace. And yeah, the sex wasn’t too bad either.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The section titles are lyrics from Imagine Dragons songs. (Title is Coldplay).


End file.
